Odin Save Us All
by boketto-muffin
Summary: What if dragons didn't exist? What if the "Dragons" were actually a notorious gang and the Night Fury was their deadliest member? Mafia AU. Human!Toothless.


**Title:** Odin Save Us All

 **Summary:** What if dragons didn't exist? What if the "Dragons" were actually a notorious gang and the Night Fury was their deadliest member? Mafia AU. Human!Toothless.

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Aghhh I've been meaning to write this for like a year now… Whelp. Here it is. I hope you at least kind of enjoy it!

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine. Well, the idea is (probably) but you get what I mean.

 **Note:** Please remember to read this in an extremely Jay Baruchel-esque voice for a more enjoyable experience. Thank you.

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 **Chapter 1 : How To Almost Kill and Be Killed**

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The story I'm about to tell you is embarrassing and awkward and tramples all over what little dignity I have left. But it's mostly true and... _somewhat_ important, if I do say so myself.

You see, life wasn't always fun and games for the people of Berk. And yes, I mean _the_ Berk, the city that erupted from nothing to become the metropolis it is today, et cetera, et cetera. That's not what this story is about. This story is about...

 _Dragons_.

I know what you're thinking. Dragons aren't real. And that's true and all, but these guys were the closest thing you could get to the scaly mythical beasts in the _real_ world.

They were the biggest, baddest gang in town, technically a part of the Mafia. It seemed no one could even get close to a single Dragon without getting burned – _literally_ burned. What made this particular group stand out compared to the other dozen or so other gangs in Berk was their use of fire and explosions rather than the guns and knives most others used. They were also skilled swordsmen, putting pretty much every pocket knife saavy at a disadvantage.

Of all the gangs in Berk - I wouldn't be surprised if at least half the population of our severely messed up community were working with or near organized crime - the Dragons were the worst. They were more of a small, very hawkish militia if you ask me.

Why am I telling you this?

Because that's where this story starts. The Dragons... Well, they were attacking my school.

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"Flames on the West Tower!"

My name is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the lll. Great name, I know; I've been stuck with it since birth. People here in Berk believe a hideous name will make you appear bolder and more frightening to the many gangs ravaging the area. It's my opinion though that the true purpose of these names is to make a fool of ourselves.

More fire erupts along the newly sodded ground. There are at least a couple dozen Dragons this time around, all focused on hitting the heart of the school grounds: the detention center itself.

I suppose I should explain that...

I don't go to an ordinary boarding school. The official name? Berk Detention Center for Juvenile Delinquents, the good ole' _"putting young children's felonious behavior to better use for seven generations."_

Am I a delinquent? Probably not. But thanks to certain social groups and stereotypes, that's what the world would see me as. It's not a surprise we call ourselves "Vikings." But that's beside the point.

Another blast of flames sends me packing across the battle field. During all the commotion, I'd managed to smuggle a handgun from the weaponry, an item the teachers would never let me lay a finger on unless everyone in the vicinity was decked out in bulletproof armor.

Anyway, I have one now, so I run across what used to be our semi-green front lawn, trying to find a good shot. See, in our school, in order to truly be accepted you have to kill a Dragon. Any other gang is simply target practice. _Dragons_ are the real deal around here.

Unfortunately for me, I was born into what many would call a small, weak body. The closest I've gotten to killing a Dragon was almost _being_ _killed by_ a Dragon. But hey, you gotta start somewhere.

"Hiccup!" One of my teachers calls while trying to hack a guy with an axe. "Get back inside!"

A few others join in, creating a chorus of disapproval for my being out here instead of watching through a third-story window like I usually do. I'll show them. I'll show all of them because _today_ is the day – the day I become one of them. I can feel it in my Viking bones.

I don't get very far before a meaty hand grabs my collar.

"What are you doing out here?" It's Stoick the Vast, chief of the "tribe." He pushes me away, towards the side entrance of our ginormous institution. "Go where it's safe!"

He's something else. I've heard rumors that when he was a little kid, he hacked a Dragon's head clean off their shoulders. Do I believe it?

He slugs a few large passing gang members.

Yes, I do.

There's no way I'm going back inside. I've never made it this far, so why stop now?

As I run, trying to avoid as many humans as possible, I try to gauge just who we're fighting tonight. See, the Dragons went as far as to divide their members into ranks, and the bandanas tied to different parts of their bodies signify just how deadly they've been deemed to be.

Taking down a swift Nadderhead is sure to capture me some attention. Gronckles are beefy and tough; killing one of them would absolutely get me a girlfriend. Zipplebacks? They work in pairs. Twice the recognition. And then, there's the Monstrous Nightmares. They're the worst of the bunch. They're adept in pyrotechnics – the deadly kind, making it hard for us shotgun, tomahawk, and dagger users to take them down. Only the best and bravest of the bunch go after them.

So far, I haven't died or been noticed. Or at least, I've been ignored. I think maybe I can get to the top of the bell tower.

But then, we hear it.

A shrill cry of charging weaponry stretches throughout the estate, getting louder and louder every second. The sound makes everyone pause for just a moment, even the other Dragons.

It's the ultimate prize. The greatest of them all. The deadly –

"Night Fury!"

"Get down!"

The sound reaches its ear-shattering peak, and suddenly the entire North Tower bursts into electric blue flames.

This guy is scary. We know next to nothing about him (or her, or _them_ , for that matter). He never shows himself, never takes anyone or anything, and...

The top half of the tower collapses.

...never misses.

No one has ever even come close to killing the Night Fury. That's why I'm going to be the first.

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I glance around at my surroundings. I'm at the back of the school, close to the tree line of the Forest of Fatality. Oddly enough, this area is always left untouched. Maybe it's the Dragons' nature, to just hit things head on instead of using tactical strategy. I guess that's a good thing, because an attack from the dense woodland could be catastrophic.

From here, I can see the whole clearing. To my left is the forest, to the right is the school, and just beyond that is the raging battle. I know what I have to do if I want to kill the Night Fury. If I stay here in the back, hidden in the shadows, I have a much better chance of determining the trajectory of the angle of the blast, which will give me a good idea of what direction he's hiding.

Shakily, I finger the simple semi-automatic starter pistol. I've never actually shot one. My fellow Vikings don't seem to trust me with lethal objects. But, I've read enough books about things I'm forbidden from to know basically what to do.

I pull back the safety, testing my sweaty index finger on the trigger. My squinty eyes scan the darkness surrounding me.

"Give me something to shoot at, c'mon..."

Silence. It's all I hear. Not even the faint cries of war or the sound of crumbling brick reaches my eardrums. I wish I could see better in the dark – because the Dragons can see perfectly.

I wait so long that my feet feel numb. Still, nothing changes from my viewpoint. I sigh. This kind of rotten luck is typical for me. Defeated, I almost turn back when –

 _"Night Fury!"_

There it is – that earsplitting shriek of an unseen weapon. I'm suddenly on high alert, and the second that fiery blast of energy shoots towards the front entrance of the school, my finger is already pulling the trigger.

The force of the kickback makes me fall over. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the ache in my wrist. I'm just in time to hear a faint yelp of pain and see a disembodied shadow tumble into the blackness of the forest.

I can't believe it. I've never once shot a gun, yet –

"I hit him..." The words don't sound real but once I repeat them, the reality of what I've just done sets in my mind. A toothy grin breaks out on my face. "This... changes everything! Yes!" I hop around a bit, celebrating alone. "Did anybody see that?"

Of course fate hates me. After all, I'm Hiccup.

I hear air moving behind me and duck just before a jagged, flaming sword swings to slice off my poor head. It's a Monstrous Nightmare – a particularly ugly one at that.

I groan. "Except for you."

Then I run.

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"Uuaaaaaggghhhhhhh!"

The grotesque dude swings his blade like crazy, and sheer luck is what keeps me alive. Faster than I've ever ran before, I make my way towards the battlefield only to realize, not only am I running away from danger but I'm also running **RIGHT INTO IT.**

Flames erupt on all sides, probably the only thing preventing that blood-crusted sword from smiting off my limbs. I duck behind a pillar, safe – I hope – for the moment.

Nothing comes. The wait itself is torturing me. Slowly, I peek around the side of the post.

"Hiccup!"

The chief flies at me, knocking aside the Monstrous Nightmare from my unsuspecting, exposed side. The force extinguishes the flames on his sword, making the weapon just the tiniest bit friendlier. But to the chief, it's now child's play.

The Dragon takes a good beating before limping away (of course, not before demolishing the pillar with his razor sharp sword), and suddenly the whole flock is retreating.

In just minutes, the campus is silent, save for the sound of crackling flames and bits of falling rubble.

Now's my chance. It's moments like these that I'm glad I usually go unnoticed, so maybe they won't see me slip away towards the fores –

"How many times have I told you," Stoick turns to me, a dangerous glint in his small beady eyes. "To stay inside?"

It's sad I know the exact number. "147 – er, 8..."

He sizes me up. "And how many times have you ignored me?"

"... 148 times."

If there's one thing about Chief Stoick the Vast, it's that he has too much on his hands to spend time lecturing the likes of me. Unfortunately, that means he usually gets the last word. Or rather, all of them.

"Just go back inside." He says with a heavy sigh. "The East wing is undamaged. Wait in your room."

I can't go back inside. No, not when there's an injured _Night Fury_ just beyond the tree line. At least I _hope_ there is. I gesture to the foliage behind me. "Listen, while you guys were fighting over here, I was by the forest. You're not gonna believe this, but I shot the Night Fury. He's probably too injured to get very far. We should send some people to – "

" _Stop!_ " He shouts. But then all the life drains out of him, like that one word used up his last bit of fury. "Just... Stop. I've had it with your stories."

I can't believe this. "Thi – this isn't a story! I'm serious! I actually – "

"Hiccup." He crouches on his knees, eye level with me. Shows just how big this guys is... Or maybe how short I am. "Not everyone is meant to be a Dragon Killer. Some of us just aren't born like that."

"I'm the _only_ one not born like that."

"You weren't meant to be here in the first place." The chief places a meaty hand on my shoulder, somewhat gentle for his strength and size. "You need to understand that. Now go inside while we clean up this mess."

I want to say something toxically sarcastic, but all that comes out is barely more than a muttered, "Fine, Dad."

Yeah… I forgot to mention that one, _minute_ detail.

A hook catches the back neck of my henley. It could only be Gobber the Belch, my mentor and, as my peers would label it, "babysitter." He shoots a wad of throat gunk to the side before dragging me back to the school, lecturing me the whole way about how I'm not fit for murder.

"Aw, come on!" I try to break free from his grip. "Just give me a chance! I could do it if you taught me. I mean, see how good I did my first time shooting a gun!"

Gobber finally unhooks me and I tumbled to the ground somewhat gracefully. "Now where in Odin's name did you get a gun?"

Genius, Hiccup. "Did… did I say I had a gun? By that, I meant a… uh… a corndog?"

Clearly, Gobber is not amused. He shoves me towards the side stairs and it pitches me forward. I don't think these guys realize just how strong they really are. They'll kill me one of these days. "Get to bed already." He says. "Hurry and fall asleep, too. Otherwise you'll get an earful from Stoick tonight."

For once, I have to agree. "Yeah… it's probably best if I avoid that…"

There's a low rumbling sound, followed by shouts about the still crumbling North Tower. Gobber lets out one of his signature, _very_ dramatic groans.

"And that's just one more thing I'll have to fix!" He jabs his hook at me. "You'd best be up bright and early. I'll need my apprentice to help rebuild that blasted tower."

"Apprentice" was just the name they gave me to help me accept the fact that I wouldn't be training with the rest of my peers. So far, it's not working. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." I grumble. "Just go already."

Gobber shrugs before running out the building, screaming like a banshee the whole time.

And they say _I'm_ dramatic.

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I really think about just going to bed. I'm exhausted after, you know, almost dying tonight. But there's also adrenaline still coursing through my veins, because I _shot_ the Night Fury. For all I know, he could still be out in the woods. Or even better – dead.

I turn and hurry up three flights of stairs to my shared dorm. If I'm lucky, Fishlegs is still outside. Not that I have anything against my roommate – frankly, he's the only kid my age who at least sort of accepts me. But maybe that's because he's just the _tiniest_ bit off himself.

I hold my breath as I creak open the wooden door and, thank Odin, it's empty. Maybe the gods don't hate me as much as I thought.

Without a second to spare, I grab my sketchbook, a charcoal pencil, and this disposable camera I haven't touched in three years. Guess it'll finally come in handy.

I shove them in my satchel (NOT a man purse, thank you) and head out the door, down the stairs, and through a hallway that, strangely, no one seems to use very often.

One thing about not having any - er, _many_ friends is that you end up with a lot of time on your hands. So, I've done a lot of exploring in the past 15 years. I'd say I know this school better than anyone, which means, I know all its secrets.

At the end of the hall is a door leading out to the back lawn, which borders the Forest of Fatality. I've never seen anyone use this door, and because it can't be seen from the main parts of the school grounds, it's perfect for a quick getaway. I look behind me and out the windows, but of course, no one is there. I slip out the door, careful to shut it silently behind me.

Moments later, I'm in the dark tree line, safe from the eyes of the teachers and the more… _burly_ students still putting out random fires and trying to keep the north side of the school from caving in. Good luck to them and all, but I wouldn't mind if it took them all night to secure the tower. The longer they're distracted, the better chance I have of not being found out.

So with that, I take a deep breath and plunge into what could be my burial grounds.

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So yeah…. How was it? Honestly, I cringed a little when I read over this. I don't usually write in this style, so the story seems kind of awkward from my point of view. But do you guys think so? Heh…

Also, let me know if you want some Hiccstrid in here. I'm not a huge fan of writing romance, but I'm totally willing too if that's what you guys want.

Okay, um. I'll stop writing now. Thanks bye


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